


after°light

by Q (ANONiM0USE)



Category: Cloak & Dagger (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMFs, Bisexual Male Character, Canon Autistic Character, Con Artists, Demisexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Genderbending, Genderswap, Heroes & Heroines, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, New Orleans, Police Brutality, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, Survivor Guilt, The whole shabang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 11:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15533667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANONiM0USE/pseuds/Q
Summary: While Tyrone and Tandy are figuring themselves out in Earth-616, Earth-615 doesn't have the same time constraints.Or even the same Divine Pairing.Tyra Johnson and Tanner Bowen come from dramatically different backgrounds but both share a secret that they can never share with another soul.Once a priveleged boy, Tanner was powerless to stop a company accident from tearing his family apart. Now eight years older and world-weary, he's a conman with a silver tongue and a dangerous habit.Young Tyra had only ever wanted to be brave - just like her older brother, Billy but when a terrible incident tears her family apart and leaves her beliefs shaken, she learns that the world doesn't favor the brave. Closing herself off from the world, she doesn't expect much from Tanner and Tanner doesn't expect much from her.But they're all they (and the rest of New Orleans) have.





	1. Black Heart, Brave Heart

"And her name was...?"

"Tyra. Tyra Johnson."

¬

The sky was a New Orleans-kind of blue, sort of maybe a greyish blue that reeked of rain and bad luck but it didn't matter because Billy was out there letting his friends go in on him. 

"-So what you just going to let him get away with it?"

She waited for Billy to say 'hell no (she technically wasn't there so he could have said it and mom wouldn't have been angry) we're about to do A, B and C' but he shook his head. 

He looked helpless. 

And his friends were not helping at all. 

Dad promised to hide his skin black enough not to be caught but _she_  was already black enough not to be caught. 

They sure as heck (bad word still) didn't see her until she came swaggering up in Billy's hoodie. 

He didn't even tell her off for taking it. 

"So what's the plan?" 

Billy had one. 

He had to have had one. 

He wouldn't have left their game of Horse otherwise. 

"The plan is to head home with my baby sister."

He turned her away from Duane and Tyler, walking like they might start swinging at him (she'd kick their shins in if they tried) but she can still hear them talking. 

"Man, you some type of coward or what? Why can't we go without Billy's bitch ass?" 

"He on that bitch ass shit using Tyra to cover up for him."

"Shortstack always following after him like a lost duckling.."

Their words sit on her throat like that time she promised not to tell mom where Billy got that cut on his shoulder from prying that heavy mirror off of her. 

Their words made Billy's shoulders tense up to his ears. 

She waits a couple of blocks, not sure about the timing-

"Are you scared, Billy?" 

**~~WHY DON'T YOU REMEMBER THIS WHERE DID YOU GO WHAT HAPPENED WHAT HAPPENED~~ **

It was easy to get the radio out, wiggling things back and forth until they popped in or out was a Johnson Family Thing. 

"Don't cry, angels," she whispered as raindrops start to dot the streets and streak her face with cold tears as she headed back home. 

It wasn't stealing - it was Billy's radio and that other guy had stole it from him. 

She was just returning it. 

"Tyra!" 

She snapped her head up, sending Billy's hoodie back out of her bright tawny eyes, running to him eagerly. 

She didn't pay attention to him scolding her, he always had something to say and she knew she was short, enough already-

"Do you know how worried Mom is!?" 

Oh. 

The angel tears weren't the only things making the sky dark. 

It was probably really late too. 

"Sorry...," she hung her head in shame, that wasn't what she wanted to do... she wanted to help. 

"You don't even like being out in the rain like this, Ty. Why are you here right now?" 

She sighed and pulled out the radio, no longer proud but still wanting to explain at least-

"You were scared, Billy. I'm not. And Daddy can't beat me darker than I am. So I got the radio back for you."

He says nothing. 

And she can't speak past the growing lump in her throat. 

She's sorry for even botherin-

"Tyra, you don't need to cry."

"'m not!," she cried. 

He sighed but he did it more like he was apologetic (that had been the word of the day when they still did that) than put-upon. 

"TyTy, you shouldn't have taken the radio without permission."

"But you asked permission and, and the white guy started yelling at you and stuff... It wasn't even his radio! You saved up a lot of your allowance to help get him one and fix it up, he don't deserve it!" 

".... Sometimes it's not about deserving it, TyTy. But I'll tell you what, let's return it back to him and you and I can finish up watching The Incredibles, okay?"

She looked up at him, sees earnestness and trusts in that earnestness and takes his hand and believes that it's going to be alright. 

They don't even make it down a block before a cop shows up, blue red blue red blue red searing into her eyes and it's almost as terrifying as feeling Billy drag her away, her feet stomping at the ground, his voice hoarse as he commands her to run-

Blue left 

Red right 

Blue left

Red right 

To the docks. 

They were headed to the docks, she knew this street, had hid here too. 

She pulls Billy into the corner, the idea of talking too much and folds into his side quietly as he pets her hair. 

He's warm and his heart is hummingbird speed. 

She likes hummingbirds. 

They can fly backwards. 

They can reach 33 miles per hour - much faster than the human speed of 17 miles on the ground running. 

She wished that she'd run faster. 

"We've got a code ** ~~CAN'T REMEMBER THAT TOO?~~** and I think he's got a partner," it's a man cop and his footfalls only accelerate her heartbeat. 

It was starting to hurt folding up like this and she never could tell which one of them had shifted and knocked into the metal of the box with a very hearable ding! 

 _Ding_ the lightning lets her see the scar, the redhair, the police badge, his vampire white skin

 _Ding_ she doesn't breathe as he draws his gun and levels it to where they're still hiding

"Come out now with your hands up!" 

She's scared she's scared she's scared she's scared she can't move her hands won't stop shaking-

"G-give me a couple of seconds, sir! I'm unarmed! I'm just stuck!" 

Billy isn't stuck and she looks at him. 

He looked determined. 

Brave. 

"Stay here, Tyra. I'll be right back."

She nodded and melted into the embrace of shadows.

She was safe, Billy would take care of it, adults loved Billy-

The gun doesn't get lowered. 

"Up on the railing now!" 

That didn't make any sense, she leans out of the box a bit to look and Billy's got his hands up, light gray sweater in stark contrast with the churning water behind him and the dark gun the officer holds. 

"I'm up on the railing, sir," Billy sounds so tired and scared and scared-

"Where's the other one, boy?" 

Billy's 18, he's no one's boy! Not even Dad calls him that anymore not unless he did something wrong. 

Other one? 

Her. He was looking for her still. 

She creeps forward out of the box, making eye contact with Billy for a second before something out there flashes white with horrible boom-that's-not-quite-a-boom and the gun goes off. 

One two three red seeps out of Billy's shirt

She saw it happen

"No!," she choked and didn't think about it, couldn't, before she went head first into the Lake. 

It had been stupid. 

It had been cold. 

A flash of light swept over her, her skin sparking and stretching and-

She doesn't exactly lose consciousness but she does lose Billy. 

She needs to find light, swim up for air, towards the light-

There! 

A pure light, warm and bright, hopeful, calls to her and she reaches for it, feeling like a hand was reaching for her too. 

An angel... 

¬

"GET READY FOR THE ST. SEBASTIAN ANGELS GIRL'S SOCCER TEAM! THIS FIRST MATCH OF THE SEASON IS HEATING UP BETWEEN ST. MARION AND ST. SEBASTIAN AS BOTH STRIKERS SIZE EACH OTHER UP!"

As the only black girl on the team, she knew that all eyes were on her as she laced up her cleats.

But she was never quite sure what they were expecting from her.

"CHOKE CHOKE CHOKE-" was what followed her from the Ward's games of basketball to her eighth grade tryouts.

What had followed her here?

"OHHH. ANOTHER FLAG FOR ST. SEBBY."

The other girl slams into her shoulder just as she sights the ball and she stumbles under the horrified gazes of her parents.

Just as she gets her footing back, she processes what the announcer just said.

"Wait, what?," she pants as she jogs back to the centerline and meets Kaylee's irritated glance with confusion.

"Don't fuck it up for us, _Lyra_."

Kaylee had a basketball boyfriend with anger issues and plus her parents were there.

Not a good idea to pop her in the face. 

"I'm not!"

The ref blows the whistle and she sights the ball, heads after it-

Another knock into her shoulder sends her sprawling and again-

"FOUL FOR SAINT SEBBY. HANDS ON THE BALL."

Huh?

She looked up to see Kaylee batting the ball out of her face and the snarky look the other blonde on St. Marion's team throws her.

It's not fair.

She glares up at the ref, anger a sparkler in her mouth,

"So you're just going to ignore the fact that she just threw the ball at my teammate?"

He raised his palms and shrugged. 

("We don't have that officer here, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.")

She looked back to make sure. 

Smug girl. Kaylee has a broken nose. Real and real. 

"Get back to it, sweetheart."

Swallowing the sparks, she can't help but feel it build up as she continues to get shoved, continues to watch her team get pummeled with elbows and carefully aimed balls. 

"IT'S 2 TO 2 ON THE SCOREBOARD AND ST. MARION'S GOT A GRUDGE TO SETTLE."

She wipes the sweat off her forehead, shaking her hands out, sights the ball and waits. 

Kaylee got it and sets up, wiping her still bleeding nose on the back of her hand. 

Little Miss Elbow sets up too. 

Tyra runs her tongue along her too sharp teeth and watches, siddling up to the both of them, way out of position but it's worth it. 

If the ref turns a blind eye to this, then she sure as hell wouldn't. 

It only takes a moment for Elbow Blonde to try again but Tyra kicks her ankle harshly before she can even try and Kaylee gets the ball into the goal.

"THREE TO TWO, ST. SEBASTIAN STILL IN IT TO WIN IT FOR THE THIRD TIME IN A ROW-"

Her back slams into the grass so hard she can feel her teeth click.

She narrows her eyes at furious hazel and a smattering of freckles and briefly thinks that Elbow Girl is kind of cute.

Then she starts to think 'oh hell no' as Elbow Girl starts trying to dig her nails into her hair and she grips her wrists and flips them over.

"Are you really trying to be a sore loser right now? You had _help_  and you still lost! Get over it!"

Honestly not her best move but she really wasn't expecting the sharp kick to her face. 

Her vision is half red and she can hear the ghost ringing start up as her nose drips blood. 

_Ding_

But she's still holding onto her captive. 

" Where the hell is the ref?! "

" Get her off of Emily!" 

"TYRA!," her team chants, "KICK HER ASS!" 

The ref is right in front of her, watching. 

Is he scared? Is he scared?! 

She ignores the burning on her knee where Emily digs her nails in and repins her to the wet grass. 

She makes sure that Emily can't move. 

"GET OFF ME YOU CRAZ-" 

She quickly strikes her temple and Emily shuts up. 

Then she looks at the ref, meeting his eyes deliberately as she stands up and lifts her arms up, spitting, 

"Call it ref."

 _He_  didn't call it. 

Coach did. 

She found that out as they took her to the nurse's office amid Kaylee and Kayla congratulating her for putting her team first. 

But really she just knew that she was in so much trouble. 

The bandage the nurse puts on itchy and way too tight and she knows for a fact that she won't go to the doctor's tomorrow. 

"You're way too damned hard-headed to be getting a concussion anyway!" 

She remains tensed. 

Sometimes her dad got personal and her mom shut down, sometimes it was reversed but worse was when-

"Just go upstairs, Tyra."

They pretend. 

They ignore that this happened and they ignore her for the rest of the night and she feels so... 

"Fine."

She pretends not to hear the bottle of wine clicking on the dining room table as she locks her door. 

Nevermind that she didn't start the fight, the matter was that she wasn't quiet.

She had been rude.

Messy.

There was a scream building in her throat as there was a knock on her window.

Everett. 

They were probably twenty minutes away from where he lived but he'd cultivated any uncanny habit of showing up right before a meltdown. 

She took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror, wincing at the bandages on her nose and temple as she smooths down her curls. 

Messy. 

She opened up the window and Ever smiled down at her easily, his lip piercing winking at her in the light as he snuck in. 

Full disclosure: Ever was gorgeous. 

He had a streak of easy mischief in his onyx eyes, that lithe kind of muscle that came from swimming and marching band and he didn't care about what the rest of the world saw in him. 

Case in point, the short dreads that he'd beaded with red and purple, the lip piercing that kept on catching her eye and-

"Good job on taking on Emily, princess."

"How did... Does everyone already..? I, um."

Try again. 

"Ahem. How do you know that?" 

He winked at her and tapped his nose. 

"Kaylee told her boyfriend that you went off on some girl named Emily with a penchant for elbows and paying off referees."

Somehow she doubted that Ever was close to Kaylee's boyfriend. 

But she doesn't want to rock the boat. 

She doesn't even understand why he wants to hang out with her. 

He'd probably be really close with Billy though. 

"... So! What's happening after?"

She shakes herself out of the sadness. 

She's got too much to do to dwell on it. 

"After?," she echoes. 

After I pass high school with at least a 3.5, I'll become a doctor and mom and dad will leave me alone. 

Then my inheritance will catch up to me and-

"Y'know, you guys _did_  win," he laughs, nudging the part of her that really did enjoy soccer not just as a way to keep an old memory alive into consciousness. 

She did win. 

She shrugged. 

"My parents were... Okay with it. Sports aren't their thing."

Its not ladylike. 

If she were Billy... 

She wouldn't have forgotten that they came. 

"So you guys aren't doing anything?" 

She shook her head. 

There was no point in dwelling on it. 

"Nah. I was just about to catch up on Game of Thrones too."

"Kayleigh, the other one, is throwing a party to celebrate the football team tomorrow. You can always pretend that it's for you."

She's honestly sick of pretending. 

And she's about to come up with a way to not have to leave her room, probably a cold or a dizzy spell. 

But Ever pins her with a pleading look in his eyes and she knows before he says anything that her answer is yes. 

"Please? I already have to go, I at least want a cute face to watch my back. Marching band can be vicious."

"Oh..um. Okay."

He ducks out of the window easily and he's halfway down the street when Tyra realizes that he just called her cute. 

And what he'd asked her to do.

"... Watch his back?," she echoed to the empty room. 


	2. Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time (Do It With A Lot of Zeros)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanner Bowen is a sunshiny conman with lady killer gloves (they do more than prevent fingerprints, ladies and gentlebastards), a fond love for references and a different method of running away from his problems than Tandy.  
> Alternatively: He meets Tyra, things go boom and he meets his Mark.

 

"Tanner Bowen. Did you know that my dad named me after the company that made his first computer?"

A quirk of safely glossed lips and he's playing her heart, a truth-

"I didn't mean to knock that into you."

He absolutely didn't.

A lie-

"I'm sorry."

"Haha, it needed a bit more high school on it anyway."

She swipes her curls out of her face lazily and starts to retreat into the crowd, away from him, away from the Net-

There are easier marks but there's something about this one that's... Attractive.

"Aren't you going to tell me your name? I _do_ need to know who I just spilled the high school experience all over."

$

"One-two, one-two, keep up with _my_ rhythm Tanner!"

He practiced outside in the rain.

"One-two, one-two, thirteen-seventy, do you remember what that's for Tanner?"

He practiced outside in the rain.

It was his third phone and second time not being caught.

"Hey, Dad."

"Tanner! How's Swan Lake coming?,"

Nathan Bowen chuckles, several hours late but at least he'd answered the phone, and unlocks the SUV.

Eight year old Tanner laughs, blonde hair dark and heavy on his forehead, and scrambles into the car, still clutching his lilac bag.

Sixteen year old Tanner scrambles into Leah's car, ready for whatever mark she's scoped out for the night, dressed to the nines in a stolen polo and skinny jeans and a smirk on his face.

"So what kind of princess you find for me, Lee?"

Leah smirks, her sweet green apple eyes sparkling with joy and a different emotion he tried to ignore,

"I found you a real Peach, Tanner. She's apparently got a thing for ballet and the 'good stuff'."

He rolled his eyes mentally, chiding his partner,

"All rich kids want the 'good stuff', Leah. It's all they've got. Why is that important to me?"

Leah sighs, like he's just sucked the fun right out of everything and really what can he say to that?

First, he's a Killjoy. Second, he's got to make some noise.

It's what he does.

"So now I've agreed to be her fuck buddy for the night," Leah snarked, grabbing his attention.

He must have blanked for a few minutes too long.

"Oh? So the threesome is on?," he affirmed.

"Honestly...," she trailed off like she might be actually considering it.

"Not if you had the last good dick in the universe."

"Damn why we got to go that far, Leah? I wasn't even about to compete with Thor. Feminist icon and a beefcake? Out of my league."

She laughed and twisted her index around a shoulder length strand - still a little uncomfortable with the fact that he'd told her that he was bisexual.

But she'd get over it. Leah was tough. Pretty Irish girl, freckles in lieu of the flaming red hair being replaced with straight ink black strands covered her milk white skin.

It was a shame that she was way too obvious with her tells.

But getaway driver was close enough to Nascar for her and so far she was well on her way to being called Baby Driver.

Despite the threats he'd received from trying it.

"So refresher course, please?"

She sighed in exasperation at his pleading face and gave in quickly, wiping the faint blush off her cheeks with her palm,

"You'll see her at this high school party... She'll be wearing a plastic crown with bottle-blonde hair. Dark brown roots."

He smirked as he started to plan his outfit.

"Aw, you know my type. Heather M. is in this year."

"... I honestly wish I understood that."

"I always waste quality references on you," he tsked as Leah handed him a cold McDonald's hashbrown and he started to choke it down.

 

$

"When has life ever given you lemons? You hardly ever even get a seed! And what should you do once you have that seed? Tanner?"

He didn't know who said that, probably an English teacher with a nasally voice trying to impart wisdom and “ _wokeness_ ” upon him.

But he did know the variations his parents taught him.

  1. "You say lemon, I say _citrus limon_ and either way we'll both get lemonade and avoid scurvy!"
  2. "Life gives us a helluva hard time and lemons, it's up to us to make sure that life has one helluva hard time fucking up the lemonade."



As it turned out, Leah's bottle blonde mark was a no-show and he's come all the way to nowheresville suburbia for nothing.

... Might as well lift a wallet or two.

The first wallet comes easy, attached to an absent-minded strawberry blonde with hipster glasses who blushes when his hand brushes her waist.

The second one isn't planned.

It was a last minute thing that very clearly was going to go south with in a couple of seconds since it was attached to a honey-eyed, dark-skinned girl with one of those half-braided Mohawk things that had only ever looked good on models.

One) he couldn't read her reaction to the gloves.

 _Everyone_ had a reaction to the gloves - some thought it was sexy, some thought it was odd, she just looked at it and tilted her head like she was doing her best to remember him by them.

Two) she wasn't really _participating_ in the conversation.

Names were one thing, _Tyra Johnson,_ but anything else was a nonanswer and like pleasantly pulling teeth.

But only twice as addictive as the good stuff.

"Where are you from?"

"Oh.. Around here. How about you?"

A couple of blocks away from homeless on Tuesdays, an abandoned church every other day.

"... Around the suburbs."

She gave him a polite smile, the kind where you knew that the person really didn't understand why you were talking to them but didn't know how to politely ask what the fuck you wanted, and made an attempt to figure it out,

"Honestly, this is a super old blazer. I'm not even mad."

He shook his head as he took a closer look at what he had spilled cheap dollar store punch and rum on and didn't know whether to swear or not.

She was lying.

It just came out last season (sue him, he liked fashion week), a new Gucci blazer with cream and red accents, and it cost more than he'd ever held in his life. (damn it)

Now he _had_ to steal her wallet.

He takes off his beanie and dabs at her shoulder, feeling her go stiff under his light touch, he soothes,

"Don't worry... I just want to blot it out. I'll be quick."

She made an _effort_ to loosen up, but something told him that she wasn't very used to being casually touched.

Odd.

His family was pretty touchy in the Before but hey-

She called a last season Gucci blazer “old”, what did he know?

He lifts her wallet with a wink and a singsong,

"See? All done!"

"Do I get a sticker now or something?," she muttered under her breath, a slight crease between her brows.

But she smiled without showing her teeth and the crowd took her away from him.

Or was it the other way round?

The loss still sits in his chest for a quick second before he sips the rest of the Hawaiian Punch-flavored rum (who brought rum to a high school party at the beginning of the year anyway?) and focuses on the Net.

The Net is where he can ‘safely’ watch his ‘prey’.

Read: plan an exit if someone noticed their stuff gone.

Playing a con was a lot like a game of “duck, duck, goose” except the middle of the circle would be prison.

But he'd been doing this for a while now and he felt pretty secure in watching Tyra in the corner of his eye.

She was the kind of adorable short, 5"5 was apparently a mellower height (source: his mom, aunt and now Tyra hadn't threatened his kneecaps but Leah did and she was 5"2) but she stood in way that he'd actually forgotten all about having to look down to make eye contact until afterwards and his neck started to hurt.

She smiled at person she'd been apparently waiting for (a tawny skinned boy with dark eyes and dreads wearing a grey hoodie emblazoned with **ST. SEBASTIAN PREPARATORY SCHOOL** and a cross paired with dark jeans) and they started talking.

Or rather, he started to talk about whatever he was saying and Tyra made sure that he carried the conversation by himself.

... So she did that to everyone then.

He knew that trick.

It made everyone think that you were a great listener but really you were just letting them talk themselves out until they realised what you were doing or they asked for your input.

Tyra Johnson was...

"HEY, WHITE BOY!"

Looking directly at him.

Shit shit, he did what he did best and ran for his exit: the graveyard.

He went through the gate, slamming it after him as his feet hit the ground and quickly looked for some place to hide. (he didn't really want to hide from her but he wasn't handsome enough to smolder his way out of trouble)

She vaulted the fucking fence with ease and he couldn't help the instinctive wolf whistle because damn, that was cool-

"Tanner? If that is, in fact, your name. Give me back my wallet."

He stepped out of his hiding spot as she turned away and almost got away with it until a branch snapped beneath his Nikes and she grabbed his wrist and everything went **white**.

 

Like that night.

 

When he comes to, he's sitting up on the ground, his palm glowing like a white star, his right glove split down the middle and Tyra rubbing her head, her own palm covered with spidery black tendrils and for a split second, something looms over her.

And it's that moment, more than anything else, that solidifies exactly who she is.

"Wait... Are you that kid from the beach?"

She stares at him.

Horrified.

Full disclosure: he feels the same.

He thought she had left or something, little him had never thought to look back.

The older he got, the more it became an itch.

The sort of thing that you never really wanted to answer.

" Fr.. From the storm?," she croaks, hesitantly standing and starting to approach him.

He did not want answers to the Before.

He didn't want to think about it.

And Tyra, whether she knew it or not, was definitely, absolutely, Before.

He throws the wallet at her, making his heart lurch when she automatically flinches away from the sudden movement but he still takes the opening and hides away from her sight.

"... Crazy white boy?," she whispers.

He doesn't laugh. He doesn't move. He doesn't breathe.

Not until she's long gone and the party's over.

Only then does he leave his hiding spot.

About to leave the graveyard, he stops as he spots an unfamiliar stone, glowing yellow and opaque, sheltering a hundred and twenty dollars in the grass.

 _For you_ , it seems to say.

And he's got a hard time believing it came from Tyra.

But it doesn't stop him from pocketing it and returning to the church.

$

"So what do you do for a living?," Amber (or was it Ashley? Or was it Sarah? Did it matter? Did he care?) titters as she continues to touch his chest despite the gentle rebuffs he'd given her.

He moves out of reach, he's the bait, he's the Pretty Boy but God if he doesn't hate this part-

It's only boys who use girls. Not the other way around.

And in some aspects, people are right.

He _is_ using Ashlyn(??), he's drugged her ridiculous sounding wine and he's just waiting for her to fall asleep.

But if people told him to stop touching them he would, if people looked uncomfortable he'd change the approach.

And Alice over here was a "special" case.

She'd tried to drug him too.

The lucky thing was that the bartender thought it was him and practically went off on him but once he'd revealed that he'd had no money or ID to pay for it, had apologized and dumped both of the drinks, making them separate and all new.

"Huhhh... Connor... Ansswer meeee!"

He refocused on her, she was barely able to keep her eyes open as she reached out to him.

It was kicking in.

It was time.

He let her leer at him, touch his thigh, his chest, like he was just a collection of spare parts.

And he leaned in,

"This."

"Whaaa?"

"This is what I do for a living, Ashley."

"My name its Nancy!"

"Sorry, _princess_. You feeling sleepy?"

She looked frightened as her limbs started to feel heavy and he batted her hand away.

"Don't worry about me touching you. In case you didn't get the message, no means no and I've been saying it all night."

"… I don't undershtand.."

"I'll make this super simple for you, Nance. I drug entitled little princesses like you and I jack their pretty little princess things because Daddy can afford to buy you some more."

He smirks at her, closing his eyes,

"So just go to sleep and pretend you knew my name, okay?"

She's out before he's finished talking.

He's faintly aware of the fact that she should be more attractive to him. Faintly.

But she's too obvious - Daddy's Girl, gets _everything_ she wants, likes to appear cultured.

Not like.... _Don't you dare think about it, Tanner_! Think about what? _Exactly_.

And now... To let Leah in!

"Let's go, Tanner!"

"In and out!"

Pills, TV, DVR, money in the drawers...

 _Swan Lake_ Seat 32V. Middle row seats.

They'd sell for good money.

He takes the entire jewellery box, his mind still on the tickets even while he makes sure that they weren't caught by any cameras.

"Are you ready, Tanner?"

"Are you OK, Tanner?"

 

"Yeah, of course!" (not)

He runs out into the New Orleans night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super excited about the responses to this (I think there are real people attached to the kudos?) and so is Tanner~  
> Tanner *sticking his head in*: Hi, hello, beauties!  
> Me (Mouse): Tanner, like we practiced.  
> Tanner *a little shit*: Give me attention because I'm literally a ray of sunshine and the author has an attention kin-  
> Me: I will kill you before you even get to know Tyra, watch me.  
> Tanner: pbbbt you wouldn't  
> Me, typing: He ran out into the New Orleans night. And was promptly hit by a car. Tyra didn't discover her fate and was left to...  
> Tanner: Be happy?  
> Me: To Everret.  
> Tanner: Same difference.  
> Me: *discomfort Ed* Eh.  
> Tanner: Whaaa-  
> Me, shoving him out of the box because this has gone on too long: Read, review and roast me if you see a typo!


	3. Rich Girl, Good Girl (Alcoholism Only Tastes Like Lemons)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares, rooftops and the age old question of 'can you handle the truth?' Tyra thinks she can. But people can't handle telling it without a little incentive.  
> Alternatively: Let the parallels begin, Tyra starts off the connection and Tanner starts off high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If songs help your vibe:  
> Bea Miller - To The Grave [it came from the show and it fits with how secretive Tyra is]

Copper fills her mouth as cold water fills her nose.

She's drowning and she's lost him and Uncle's saying that it's her fault, that she was only ever the spare, that she should be grateful for the fact that somebody died that night or he'd kill her himself.

She's drowning in blood and salt water tears.

She's drowning and no one cares.

Not even her.

¬

 

Her wallet is empty and she is drained by the time she trudged home to her house.

Looking at it from outside, she can tell that she should be more ecstatic to return to the building.

It's 10 o'clock so Agatha will be downstairs still watching her shows until her parents arrive home from work and whatever the heck her father did all day. 

They didn't want to stick around either. 

Too much broken glass on the landmines. 

She looks up at the second floor, at her Wing's balcony and tries to imagine Veronica Sawyer breaking into it to sing 'Dead Girl Walking' with her. 

Minus the unnecessary touching. 

"Hello, Agatha... Yes. I have arrived. Please deactivate the security system. I will enter the foyer shortly."

Business calls were easily rehearsed. A scripted point A to B and easily mapped out responses. 

.... Personal calls and conversations had too much at stake. 

She can't stop staring at the balcony. 

.

.

.. It needed more succulents.

 

She entered the foyer.

" Tyra... Good to see you, princess," Agatha's voice greets her like clockwork.

She considered heading upstairs, letting Agatha come find her in her room as her brain choked on static.

But she'd receive a lecture from Mother.

It wasn't worth it.

"Good evening, Agatha. I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast."

She darts upstairs before Agatha can pretend to be interested in her day. Doesn't she know that she'll just give her the allowance if she asked?

 

She's got her own money.

She doesn't need Billy's.

Other people do.

It was why she left that money for Tanner.

He was better than most people at pretending to be interested in her but she saw his face when he noticed the designer blazer.

The sound of dollar signs had been _audible_.

But he'd still made an effort and there'd been something about him..

He'd been the boy on the beach.

So the beach had been real.

Her bruised knuckles told her so.

... So how much else had been?

Was it.. She shook her head and glanced at her phone.

11: 45 pm.

Since she had school tomorrow and teachers didn't deserve to have to deal with her feelings, she'd better go to sleep.

Stripping down into a cotton and lace nightgown _~~"gown" ... it was really basically a comfy shirt~~_ , she allows a quiet sigh of relief as her breasts are unbound from the unwired purple prison.

Flinging it into the laundry basket allows her the illusion of destressing.

It'd probably take revenge by trying to stab her eventually.

... She was tired, right? 

Her eyes protested at even light reading and staring at the ceiling only made her anxiously squirm. 

12:12 a. M.

She'd forgotten to turn off her reading lamp. 

It was too bright but she was too comfortable to bother with getting up. 

12: 36 am. 

She rolled over and cocooned herself in obsidian silk sheets. 

Like that would be enough to prevent the nightmares. 

It was always the same. 

It never changed. 

Billy was shot. Some kid screamed. She went under. Billy's blood swirled around her angrily and she realized too late that she'd never learned how to swim. 

~~_she still didn't - there was too much underwater to truly want to resurface_ ~~

Uncle's voice is still loud and clear even after five years. 

But tonight, as she's watching her oxygen bubbles leave her behind, a tall and slender shadow with hooked claws at the end of hulking hands floats in front of her and she can't find it in her to be frightened. 

“ ** _frightening_ _?_** ”

Its voice reverberates in her chest, hoarse and low but clearly a voice. 

It had no mouth and by all means, she _should_  have been terrified. 

But it reminded her of.. 

She squeezed her eyes shut as it disintegrated into black dust. 

“ ** _familiar?_** ”

 

She opened her eyes and yelped, more oxygen bubbles stream towards the void above her head, staring at the grayscale Billy blinking at her in confusion.

"Uh. Yep. This is a wee bit strange for me too. Could you, uh, not look like him?"

" ** _why?_** "

"Because you're making my heart hurt and last time I started crying in my sleep, Agatha got Charles to follow me around for a week and a half to make sure I wasn't pregnant or something" isn't something she can say.

Obviously. 

".. Just don't look like him, go back to how you used to look."

Billy's shoulders slump and she blinks, and sure enough, the faceless shadow is back. 

It didn't have a face but she sensed that it was sulking.

Kind of cute.

In the weird cute way that bats were adorable. 

"So what do I call you?" 

" ** _decide?_** " 

"You want me to give you a name?" 

“ ** _yes?_** ”

She considers it for a moment, about to try one out, when-

Her internal alarm clock jolts her awake.

It's a school day but sometimes, without her alarm clock, she wakes up a little later than she wants and has to rush to go to school at her normal time. 

There are days when she seriously considers not attending school. She considers not leaving the safety of her bed. She's not been actually hungry for months now but Agatha needs to remain necessary if not she'll be left alone in the house.

She doesn't want to know what she'll do if she's left alone in the house.

Today is one of those strange days where she isn't sure where she is for a few moments.

It isn't their house at the Ward.

.... And it isn't the new house either. ~~_she's well aware of the fact that they've lived there for seven years now but it never feels like she's lived there_~~

She opens an eye to meet the beady eye of a crow.

She closes it and rolls over on her mattress.

Or she would have.

If she were _on_  her mattress.

Instead the grit of a random rooftop scrapes at her arm, surprising both her and the bird.

Giving the bird a dirty look as it starts squawking anxiously, she orders,

"Oh shut up! You actually belong here!"

It listens.

She decides to deal with only one strange thing at a time.

Starting with how she appeared on top of...

She looked at the bright neon red sign and let out a low, quiet scream of frustration.

Of course.

A Roxxon building.

She didn't know how far away she was from the house but with her luck, this was the one that Mother worked at as Chief Executive PR manager.

She had to get back before school started without alerting her to the oddity.

Because then she'd ask for an explanation and she didn't have one and it'd be terrible and-

She forced herself to take a deep breath.

Step one: get off the roof.

She had to get off the roof.

¬

So.

Getting off the roof wasn't a problem.

The sun had just risen an hour ago and no one really paid her any mind despite the general indecency of what she wore to bed shielded by the bedsheet that she'd wrapped herself in. 

_~~was this what had transported her here? what did it mean? was she **cursed** or something? was this a sign from~~-_

The real problem was getting back to the house. 

She wasn't sure how long it would take Charles to come to her rescue. Or even where she was.

She didn't leave the house.

For a junior in high school, she was relatively aware of the fact that she should have been to more high school parties than just the one she'd been to yesterday.

But being at the party was like going to the eighth grade graduation dance.

It was both underwhelming and overwhelming how many people didn't know who she was and yet knew of her and therefore tried to talk to her about things that she didn't know very well.

She only bought brand names if it looked nice and it was discounted.

The last time she'd been on vacation, she'd gone to Italy ~~_and she didn't discuss Italy with people who didn't know her_~~.

Most people didn't want to talk about Roxxon and how suspicious they were.

And those who did were her mother's bosses and she had to play nice.

"So kid, you got any money?" 

She refocused on the taxi driver with a sheepish smile already in place. 

"… Um, no, I kind of just woke up on top of a rooftop but-" 

He pulls away before she can even finish the sentence.

"-if you just drive me to Uptown.. I could pay you for the trouble..."

Why was she still talking again?

For the sake of Pi.

She ran out of the street quickly, avoiding the cars and shouting crowd as she ducked into a random storefront.

It was high time she swallowed her pride and called Charles.

555-671-4251

Change was easy enough to find and after two vending machines, she had enough for a fifteen minute call at the bookstore's payphone.

" _Ring-ring, Charlie Thompson answering!_ ," sang Charles' voice. 

"Charles, it's me. Tyra. I need you to come pick me up please."

“ _Tyra?! Wasn't I just at your house? Your mother assumed that today was one of those days where you needed space and walked yourself... Where are you?_ *”

His worry made her feel jittery and wrong. 

How was she supposed to respond to it? 

Mother and Father always said that she could take care of herself and so she did. 

“I'm, uh, in... the Mystic Tree Bookshop in Midtown..”

“ _Oh, Tyra... Did you dream again?_ ”

She wanted to be sick. 

All it took was one time. 

Then everyone thought that she'd just sleepwalk all the way to Midtown?! 

But what alternative did she have? 

‘Oh no, what happened was.. I woke up on Mother's office rooftop and then I, of course, don't keep a twenty in my panties so the driver left’?! 

“Yeah... I kind of just woke up in the middle of the road.. ”

“ _Agatha didn't even notice... I'll be there shortly, little miss. Give me fifteen and a shake and I'll bring your vanilla iced coffee.._ ”

“With-”

“ _Light caramel sauce on top. I know you, kiddo. See you in a bit._ ”

~~_Stop lying._ ~~

“One last thing! Don't tell Mother and tell Agatha the same.”

“ _But_ -”

“I'll pay you both 200 for your silence on the matter!”

He paused.

He needed the money. Even if he didn't. He needed to take the money.

Her parents didn't offer overtime but Tyra paid the both of them very well worth their time - especially when she needed their silence.

“ _300_.”

“… Only you. Then you've got yourself a deal.”

“ _Alright. I'll be there shortly_.”

“Your money will be in the bank by 3 o'clock this afternoon.”

He hung up.

That was the proper response.

Her parents could afford to have their money buy lies, she could afford to buy the truth.

¬

She went to school forty-five minutes late.

A combination of traffic, nearly forgetting her History project and Agatha reading her the Fifth until she said that she would give her the 200 in cash made her arrival much more of a gift than a necessity.

It was almost her senior year and no one really cared about perfect attendance anymore.

She still goes though.

Because what else would she do?

Ever silently mock-gasps at her as she offers a wry smile.

Yesterday, Ever had told her all about his family history, his mother had been a psychic and his father a psychic unbeliever and they'd eloped together despite his father's family's misgivings. They'd had him when they were still pretty young and his mom had died during childbirth.

But he'd had a pretty loving and doting father until Katrina came and his father had been whisked away in the storm.

He lived with his aunt Chantelle and worked the tours to her little gift shop she operated from her house.

Oh and he thought his aura was blue. Like dark ink blue.

He didn't like the quiet as much as she did but she could still appreciate the effort he made to find out what she liked.

She told him that she really enjoyed jewel tones but rarely went to places that it'd be appropriate for the environment.

  _ ~~maybe that was why she'd given a con artist citrine and her allowance? Sentiment?~~_

She really liked jewel tones, and maybe she liked fire. 

She didn't have much need to figure out what she liked. 

$

There's a hint of _something_  humming in his veins. 

He's ethereal, eternal and he's so effing high. 

The Good Stuff indeed, Leah. Leah hums too. 

Leah's really pretty but she always seems too... 

Soft. Like he'll break her if she sees him crying. She cries a lot though. Leah's one of those people who's pretty even when they're crying. 

He can't bring himself to hate Leah for that though. 

He can't bring himself to ask why she hangs around him either. 

She thinks that he's a princely royal type. Maybe for a shtick. Maybe if she asked nicely. Maybe, maybe. Maybe while he was high. 

His high never seems to last long enough to make him a good person and there's not much he can do at... 

The dancing red lets him know it's time to make a wish. 

12:12 am. 

He wishes he could stay high forever. 

 

But there's no pills that strong.

It'll just have to be enough to get him through the day. g red lets him know it's time to make a wish. 

12:12 am. 

He wishes he could stay high forever. 

 

But there's no pills that strong.

It'll just have to be enough to get him through the day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Tyrone + inheritance + emotionally unavailable parents - male = emotionally withdrawn, pessimistic and altruistic Tyra)  
> ((I'm going to have so much fun with these characters. By fun, I mean. A N G S T 'hurt/comfort'))  
> Mouse: Tyra, do the outro.  
> Tyra: Sure. Read, review and roast the author if you enjoyed seeing us and remembered that the show has incredible slowburn and ergo, this story probably won't have even an acknowledgement of these characters feelings until chapter 15 or 20.


	4. Dreams And Icarus (or Diamonds Are A Boys Best Friend)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanner's powers show up a bit, Tyra discusses God and conversations and both of them cope in unhealthy ways. (Tyra's is a little less obvious)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be underwriting Ever a little bit in comparison to Leah...

He's in the middle of a good dream. He's Icarus and he's just barely skimmed the surface of a cloud that ghosts over the skin of bare hands like steam and the kiss of a magic trick.

He's in the middle of a nightmare. He's Icarus and he's trapped inside of a metal coffin with-

 

Someone's loud laughter.

He opened up bleary eyes to taped up Superman and All the Numbers of Pi posters clinging to a grey-white cracked ceiling.

Turning over, he groaned at the time: 11:45pm and resisted the urge to jump out of the nearest (bathroom) window. 

Greg, the latest one in a string of sad, sad con lawyers who gave his mother false hope against Roxxon, and his mother were a lot like how teenagers acted on the CW.

Which meant that they did the deed, came close to doing the deed and did lots of drugs.

 

He loved his mom. He really did.

But there was a limit to how much he could give her.

 

Whenever she could be bothered to hold down a job, there was always something wrong with it.

Whenever she saw him with money, there wasn't a minute where it wasn't his job as man of the house to provide for her - even if they both knew she'd just blow it on alcohol and men like Greg who said they would work on re-opening the case before their wife called and they disappeared off the face of the planet.

 

He was the man of the house. 

He had to keep her safe. 

 

So he stayed to make sure that she wasn't all alone.

 

And now that she wasn't...

 

He snuck into the bathroom and threw his lilac duffel bag out of the window, quickly following after and shutting the window quietly.

 

He's gone before she ever stops laughing.

 

$

 

Sometimes he's a little bit too much of a trouble magnet. 

Sometimes it just attracts Leah. 

And she attracted the addict. 

He's not an addict. 

He just doesn't feel right without it. 

Tonight it's both - Xanax, coiling along his brain, soft and sweet and cloying. 

She's sleepy and he's asleep. 

 

It's the beach.. No. 

As he looks around, the sand clear as glass and cool against his feet, the sky a deep and fathomless black and a strange peace in the air, he catches the eye of an inky black vulpine who yawns at him - despite the fact that it has no face. 

 

"Where are we?"

 

It stares at him pointedly before turning around and walking a bit, turning back to him with an echoing huff when he hesitates.

 

"You want me to follow you?"

 _Duh_ , it huffs silently as he walks after it, taking in more of his surroundings.

The moon above his head was a shattered disc, trapped in orbit and where the ocean should have been was nothing but an iced over wasteland with a pomegranate seashell half-trapped between.

The feeling in the air that he'd mistaken for peace grew more haunting the more he followed the faceless beast.

It all came to a head when he stepped on a pure white diamond and it started to wail.

Like a creepy horror movie child, hiccuping screams and all. 

The vulpine hisses at it, a mist of shadows reaching out to it menacingly and against his will, his heart thuds painfully in his chest-

 

"No!”

 

The shadows retreat as the vulpine yips at him and he gingerly picks it up.

 

It coos at him quietly and glows.

 

“What is this thing?”

 

“- Hey, maybe you'll have a little brother next year, LeLe~”

 

It's the voice of an older woman, singsong and cheerful and as he looks at the diamond, its bright glow starts to engulf him and he has no choice but to shield his eyes. 

 

When he opens them again, he's looking at a little girl with eyes he's seen in the mirror everyday and ink black hair that he's seen almost every day for the past year, laughing at a someone he can't quite see as she plays with a Barbie, ripping its head off viciously. 

 

"Haha, very funny, Leah. Alyssa's enough of handful on her own," it's his voice but.. 

 

 _Not_.

 

( _Nevermind what he said_ -) 

 

He's never been that warm. There's something charming about him but it's only ever been enough for a quick kiss or one night and then something goes wrong and he's gone. 

 

As Tanner from the fucking Twilight Zone steps into the kitchen, he chokes. 

 

His blonde hair, messy from fingers running through it (usually his, sometimes not), was slicked back and corporate. 

 

He was dressed to the nines in a funeral suit and he mourns the poor sucker who's getting played in this dream. 

 

He's not apple pie and dark red pinstripe ties. 

 

He doesn't even know what he is. 

 

But he isn't a fatherly type... He's nothing like his dad. Nothing like what he can remember. 

 

It starts to seem more like an overwhelming nightmare and he knows the poor sucker being played. 

 

The other him had said it but it had been relatively easy to shrug it off. 

 

His subconscious would never be that cruel, right? 

 

He'd just shrug it off like that weird dream that he'd had about almost drowning in a pile of white feathers. 

 

But no-

 

It was Leah.

 

Leah with long waist-length hair that he couldn't play with, much less see her with.

 

Leah, his partner in crime, someone he'd never really seen as a _partner_ , making moon eyes at him.

 

Leah saying, "Haha, God Tanner, I l  ~~ _nope nope not allowed_~~  you", pretty green apple eyes like the sun and-

 

He wakes up.

 

$

 

After that bout of weirdness, he's been avoiding both Leah and the pills and the general weirdness that came with both of them combined and he's never been antsier for some cash. 

 

He'll need it. 

 

He's so wound up that Leah's hand brushing against thigh doesn't faze him and the relief that she sighs out is attributed to the money they'll split as he keeps his eyes on the road. 

 

Watching the kids who could afford the schools around here laugh with their friends. 

 

He wonders what school Tyra goes to. 

 

Not that he'll find out. Was it the same as that guy? Maybe. 

 

Why's he even thinking about it? 

 

His attention drifts back to Leah as she slaps a much lighter stack of money than he's expected into his waiting palm. 

 

“What...”

 

He counts. 

 

Again. 

 

Nononono-

 

“Where's the rest of it? This is only, what, 350! There were diamonds in that necklace we got, emeralds even!”

 

It was hard to remember their rules when his blood was boiling but he still did. 

 

He took a breath and Leah slowly started to uncurl herself from the driver's seat. 

 

He felt like an ass but he still needed answers, so he compromised, 

 

“... Sorry about that. What happened?”

 

Leah took a breath and explained, 

 

"They said that the microetching on the gems reduced the value. And the tickets had serial numbers on it. Trackable.”

 

“... Microetching?,” he echoed, incredulity coloring his tone. 

 

“That doesn't _exist_ , Leah. They fucking played you.”

 

She flinched as he slammed his palm into the silver of the beat-up dashboard and swore,

 

“Damn it.”

 

It wouldn't be enough. 

 

Maybe if he stretched it... 

 

“Why do you need the money anyway?,” Leah's voice interrupted his downward spiral into panic. 

 

 

“... I just do, okay?... It's not important.”

 

It really wasn't.

 

It was just something that he did to pass the time. 

 

¬

 

She found her thoughts wandering to Tanner AKA white boy - she felt guilty for even saying that he was crazy - during detention. 

 

She wasn't. Hopefully. Likely.

 

Insanity wasn't rational and she was very rational.

 

Which didn't really mix well with organized religion.

 

She stared at the cross, the pained milk-white face of Jesus based on Da Vinci's lover and apparently the very same seen on the Veil, and wondered if she's supposed to _feel_  something.

 

She's not like Ever who can believe in this and voodon so whole-heartedly.

 

She's got too many questions for God.

 

And every single one of them started with “Why?”.

 

Why Billy? 

 

Her brother was no drug addict and he feared the ocean as much as she loved it and when he died, that sheer terror was now her own. 

 

It was no longer a mysterious world to behold in awe. 

 

It was a terror, a mausoleum, it devoured her brother. 

 

Now she had to question-

 

Why her? 

 

Why Tanner? 

 

Of all the people to find at a party, the boy that she'd washed up next to, seen for a brief brilliant second of sunlight, taking the tiny silk glove home with her-- 

 

Tanner wasn't on the agenda. 

 

Admittedly her agenda was devastatingly full and empty at once. 

 

NJHS for college, pre-med club for college, Tae Kwon Do for college and because Father O'Neal said it'd help with the anger sitting in her chest after she'd snapped on the last kid who'd called her crazy. 

 

She wondered what Tanner did with the emotions he had. 

 

She wondered what emotions he had. 

 

She wondered if time could be any slower as she glanced at the clock. 

 

And she wondered if Tanner was in school right now. 

 

Father continues to pretend like in the middle of detention is a great place to preach at a bunch of teenagers there for either fighting, sleeping and/or being tardy to 7:30 mass. 

 

 

“... As Jesus was led by faith, so shall you. Let us bow down our heads in prayer... ”

 

She's a good kid. Pleasant.

 

But she doesn't close her eyes during prayer.

 

She watches everyone else - three kids close their eyes and mouth along with him, she mutters it quietly, everyone else sneaks it.

 

A phone, a bag of chips, it's just a distraction.

 

She waits for the quiet ‘Amen’ and pulls out her sketchbook and continued the piece.

 

The moon was what saved Icarus from the wrath of the ocean.

 

She sketched Ever. 

 

She sketches Tanner. 

 

She layouts God. 

 

She had ripped out her last sketch of Billy. 

 

It was the only one her Father had complimented. 

 

It was the only one that she could never get _right._

 

“So, you got your wallet back from the crazy white-”

 

“Don't call him that please. I made mistake and would appreciate it if you didn't.”

 

Ever pauses, looks at her for a second and continues, brushing her off.

 

“Right.”

 

She waits-

 

“So, anyway. You get your wallet back?”

 

“Yeah, I did,” choosing to ignore the way her heart sat on top of her stomach and grabbing her backpack from her locker, she doesn't offer anything else.

 

The shadow sitting in the corner of her eye, faceless and vulpine, yips at her, the noiseless sound drifting over her skin like vibration.

 

She isn't crazy.

 

“I hate people like that who feel entitled.”

 

She doesn't let the hurt show on her face.

 

“Maybe the only way he knows how to survive in the world is to steal.”

 

“Theives deserve death, Tyra. Or righteous vengeance.”

 

“He needs both,” Tyra sighs as they walk down the steps, she needs to wait at the bottom for Ever to catch up.

 

“So why can't he get both?”

 

“He can't afford it. Not yet.”

 

Ever looks at her oddly again and she can feel a fever burning her face. 

 

“What?”

 

“Nice premonition, Saint Tyra.”

 

She forces a laugh - not at all certain about why she'd been so confident in her answers but not about to take them back.

 

“I'm not a Saint, Ever.”

 

“If you're not a Saint, Tyra, then everyone's going to be super pissed that they can't finally talk to you.”

 

She blinks.

 

“Wait, what? I'm approachable, aren't I?”

 

It was Ever's turn to pause. And he winced.

 

“Everyone was convinced that you were going to snap on somebody else during the first week then people started to figure out that you were super sweet around week three...”

 

“Hold up. I snapped on Lyle because he called me crazy everyday during the most stressful month I'd had the unfortunate experience of living through. But—”

 

“Yeah, they know that *now*. But Lyle's friends kept saying that you just methodically beat him bloody for no reason.”

 

“… Huh. So that's why she was so scared of me at first.”

 

Even though Ever had no idea what she was talking about, he agreed. 

 

“Yeah... So. After you gave a bunch of crying juniors and freshmen care packages, everyone called you Mother Theresa—”

 

She scowled at the name.

 

“Alright, so obviously, Theresa was no dice.”

 

“... I dislike her.”

 

“Mmhm. But you'd, like, moved on. If people don't talk to you during the first two weeks, the Tyra Express is gone.”

 

“I don't have time to cultivate extraneous relationships. But if they really want to befriend me, they've got to be more overt. Elementary school still haunts me.”

 

“I'll pass along the message.”

 

She's got to be careful about what she tells Ever.

 

She'd forgotten about his connectivity to the _Pulse_ and the figurative pulse of school gossip.

 

“Mmhm.”

 

“Great! So, this your stop?”

 

She turns toward the parking lot, searching for Charles.

 

Spotting his car, she agrees. 

 

“Yeah. My ride's out there... See you tomorrow?”

 

She jaywalks to the black car without looking back.

 

On one side, great, she'd participated in a conversation with a friend.

 

That'd get Doc off her case.

 

But—

 

It was probably the most boring thing she'd sat through.

 

There weren't questions. He didn't care to ask.

 

“... Charles. Am I approachable?”

 

He looked at her in the mirror, seeing something in her expression, he sighs,

 

“You're very reserved, little lady. Even with your parents.”

 

“But it's polite to do that...”

 

“… you shouldn't have to worry about politeness with your family, Tyra.”

 

“I don't understand. I'm not about to become some uncouth hoodlum.”

 

“... Indeed. Well. Here's your stop.”

 

She looked up at the decript rundown ballet theatre and she's in love. 

 

“Thanks. Come back in about two hours, please?”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

Maybe she isn't approachable, maybe people just don't try hard enough.

 

But here—everyone couldn't get enough of her.

 

They listened and actually asked her questions.

 

It was the best and worst thing ever.

 

Because it had to end.

 

“Aw, don't look so crushed, Ty. You can help with the next show.”

 

“Of next year, though?,” she whined.

 

“Our favorite little theater jack needs a break every now and then. You know we all—”

 

Vanessa interjects,

 

“Except for Todd.”

 

“Todd can blow me,” Tyra retorts.

 

“—love you. And that was like hearing a cupcake attempt to swear.”

 

“Say fuck,” Jaime calls down from the rafter.

 

“Nope.”

 

“Please, mamì.”

 

“Nope. And not your mommy,” she teased. 

 

“Pretty please with all your fancy red lips.”

 

She apparently still has a soft spot for the boy she'd kissed on Christmas.

 

She sighed,

 

“On your birthday. I'll record me swearing if it makes you happy.”

 

“Sex is great but have you ever seen a cinnamon roll turn into a sinnamon roll?,” he cackled. 

 

“Don't get too excited. It could be a disaster.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone know how long the series of Cloak and Dagger is in real time? How much time between events do they have to recuperate and chill? Does the Roxxon thing really happen within ten weeks?
> 
> ____
> 
> Timeline of OG Cloak and Dagger aside, I'm going to be headed back to school in a week (TT_TT) and thus will probably only be able I will to write at night or on Fridays. Updates will be sporadic but I will not abandon this story.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, leave me some encouragement and kudos please!


	5. Flash In the Pan (pt. I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> //hope is seduction and honeyed words sliding past shark-sharp teeth, dizzying and pretty and are you completely sure that it's real?
> 
> \\\fear is dark and hungry and patiently waiting for you in the recesses, it sticks to your tongue like dark chocolate, bitter but addictive and always, always there.
> 
> which one is the better poison?

She watches him dance like she can't get enough of him, drinking him in with those honey dark eyes, an almost smile playing at her mouth.

 

“Again!”

 

The dance of the seven veils is what she plays, her head bowed as her burnt out black violin invites him to continue.

 

It's a dance meant to be enticing.

 

Seductive.

 

But her eyes are only amused. Never hungry.

 

Not like everyone else.

 

“Again!”

 

He's out of line but so alive as he dances close enough to the pit of the stage.

 

Close enough to see that even though there are other instruments being played, she's the only player present.

 

She's blindfolded and smirking and so, so close.

 

She's so, so dangerous like this.

 

He can feel his heart skip as she opens her mouth and says, in the midst of shrill beeping noises,

 

“You're. In. So. Much. Trouble.”

 

$

 

He's been asleep for too long.

 

His head is filled with cotton, his mouth a cemetery of ash, his limbs disjointed and his back stiff.

 

The vestiges of daylight filter into the church in fiery bright tones that clash terribly with his grey mood.

 

“Happy Seasonal Depression,” he greets the church rats who skitter back into the walls in response.

 

Lyra's mom nabbed her runaway daughter again, either not realising the problem or not caring, and returned her to school and the reach of Everything Wrong With Catholic Schools.

 

But until Lyra could escape her mother's death grip on her funds, he was stuck SOL and solo.

 

And bored.

 

He was so bored.

 

So very—

 

He froze as a heavy cloth bag flew overhead, feeling the energy sink into his bones like the heat of a scalding shower, turning in time to catch the body hurtling through the empty church to meet him.

 

“Tanner!,” Rory Lee Bowen shrieked as she picked him up and swung him around like a ragdoll. 

“Rory,” he cheered in response after the room had regained its balance. 

 

“You look like hell.”

 

“Thanks,” she said drily, unaffected by his words, treating them just like any others. 

She was on the path to becoming an anthropologist after all and that couldn't be easy. 

 

“You look worse.”

 

 

He struck a joking pose and stuck out his tongue as she giggled at his antics.

 

 

“But seriously though, Tan Bam, what's up with you? You look like the poster boy for every drug addiction in the Midwest.”

 

He laughed her off, changing the subject easily,

 

“How's Chad?”

 

 

¬

 

Her feet didn't reach the floor as she waited outside of the office, chewing on the thick peanut butter and strawberry sandwich as she counted the ceiling tiles.

 

It was a funeral.

 

Her feet rested on the ground as she waited for the toast to greet her, jar of peanut butter and grape jelly ready, eyes on the watch.

 

She had twenty minutes before Father would be home.

 

They didn't speak much. It was too awkward to say anything about the last eight years.

 

And that was all she wanted advice about.

 

Her parents were so able to get up and take their marching orders and-

 

 _ding_!

 

She forces her chest to expand as she snatches the toast and spreads the jelly on the right side of one.

 

She hates that sound.

 

It especially echoed in mausoleums.

 

She chokes on peanut butter and nostalgia.

 

¬

 

“So. I heard you were late—”

“A few days back, Mom. It's fine.”

 

Her mother had been prowling around the house for two days now and she was in no mood for it.

 

AP Physics was screwing up her 4.0 GPA and there was a test in a week that she was unsure about, they had the homecoming game that she wouldn't announce to her parents until she won, _something_  was following her around—

 

She took a breath and held it.

 

She could handle it, she could handle it—

 

“No, it's not _fine_ , Tyra. Imagine if this got out. You cannot just waste the character that you have built up right before you start college..."

 

Exhaling, she silently mouths the words along with her mother, 

 

“You can't let your potential go to waste.”

 

Inhale.

 

The next exhale is a sigh and her mother notices, eyes narrowed and flinty.

 

“You know I just want the best for you, Tyra.”

 

“Of course, mom,” she turned away after the silence stretches for far too long and she grows uncomfortable with her mother's eyes.

 

“You can't hide up in your room forever—”

 

She didn't mean to sound as brusque as she did.

 

“Could you _please_  stop? For maybe once?”

 

“What?”

 

“With the pressure!”

 

Right on cue her eyes start to water and she blinks them away, livid.

 

“I'm not hiding! I can't be perfect at everything and if I screw up _once_...”

 

The anger drains her energy faster than she has it and she runs her hand over her face with a sigh,

 

“You act like you're going to lose me.”

 

“... Is that how you feel, sweetie?”

 

Her mom reaches out to her but she's too close to her face and she can't help but jerk back and the movement is aborted. 

 

“We're afraid that even if you do. Even if you don't make a single mistake.”

 

She swallows and slowly takes Tyra's hand.

 

“I'm still going to lose my baby.”

 

$

 

He's chewing on the spice of gumbo at nine years old, letting the burn cry for him, he's not ready to go home.

He doesn't have one. 

He's still chewing on the spice but it's a cheap faster way to disguise tears, to not return to the bed, to not see the rats he's failed to chase away. 

Rory blinks away her own tears brought on by his mistake in admitting that nothing had changed and the absence of an engagement ring on her finger as she steals his fries. 

 

“And you aren't in school anymore, right?”

 

He shrugs. 

 

“Might as well enter the workforce early.”

 

She blows a raspberry at him and waves some familiar white tickets at him as his fingers twitch towards his pockets.

 

He'd learned that from _someone_ he supposed. 

 

“You sound like my mother, Tan Bam!,” his admittedly less innocent than he'd thought cousin mocked before slapping the tickets down on the booth's table.

 

 

“Do you two, like, want to order.. or something?,” the waiter mumbled into the menus he held, like he'd already been yelled at for not speaking up and really didn't need to hear it again.

 

 

“Yeah.. Lemonade, light on the ice for me and a Apple-Cranky fruit tea for the lady. We're splitting an 8.”

 

“Ah..alright,” he repeated the order with a briefly relaxed smile before hustling off to tell the cook. 

 

 

 

“So.. Swan Lake, huh? I'm not even going to ask how ya got it but I am gonna tell ya ta use em. It can be a birthday gift ta yourself. Take your girlfriend, Leah-”

 

With more vitriol than he'd heard in his mouth in a long time, 

 

“She's not my girlfriend.”

 

There's a pregnant pause before the waiter comes, setting their drinks down and murmuring something about their food not being ready quite yet and they try to return to the friendly air.

 

 

“Then what is she?”

 

 

But, Rory Lee, who had never backed down from a fight before, got backhanded regularly by an abusive father for it, who had just found out that her boyfriend of three years had never thought of her as an actual woman... She couldn't let that go.

 

 

She needed those lines in the sand, where she stood, where he stood.

 

But he didn't know.

 

Leah was many things.

 

A friend in some respects, a stranger in most, he didn't trust her, he didn't need her...

 

She was his..

 

“Partner?,” he tried.

 

 

He grimaced at the thought of it though so he settled for something else,

 

“My companion.”

 

 

“Your companion?,” Rory echoed.

 

 

It fit about as well as it could have and thus he nodded.

 

It's a little white lie that he can sell for as long as he needs to, so it's what he settles on. 

 

“And you're all set,” the waiter announced proudly, letting their plates clink on the table. 

 

“Huh... Um.. No one ordered the-”

 

“This comes from the gentleman over there and he left a note for you, mister.”

 

 _Well_ , who was he to say no to free chocolate cake? 

 

He accepted the note and pretended to read it as he scanned the restaurant for his very own secret admirer. 

 

Not the redhead obviously day-drinking. Not the waiter, for obvious reasons...

 

Him. 

 

Tanner couldn't see any facial features of the man but something about him looked familiar as he scanned the tan trenchcoat and his hunched over position as he nursed a cup of coffee.

 

But there's an air of nerves around him, like he's ready to have his gift rejected. 

It's almost a little endearing if he doesn't want to know why he did this. 

 

He's not going to eat the cake. 

 

And in fact, he'd probably have thrown it out or given it to the mystery man if Rory hadn't taken his prolonged pause as consent to completely devour the plate. 

 

“So then, you're paying.”

 

“Wha-”

 

“You literally ate everything including the cake.”

 

 

At that point, the man gets up and walks out into the street.

 

 

... And then he vanishes.

 

In something like smoke.

 

But he forgets it after Rory throws her napkin in his face.

 

 

¬

 

“So... Do you like Ever?”

 

Tyra stumbled and she can distantly hear Javier's raspy chuckle as Lewiston jumps out of her seat to catch the ball before it rolls into the street.

 

 

“Where did that come from, Lewiston?”

 

On a different day, she'd probably be slightly irritated by the fact that they couldn't just be friends.

 

But today, she's far too hungry for something normal, something hideously mundane like a mistaken crush.

 

 

“Well.. Y'know, you guys are talking.. And he took you to that party.. ”

 

Instead of literally anyone else is somewhere in that pregnant pause but Tyra decides against acknowledging it out loud.

 

 

“Because you think that he likes me?”

 

 

 

Before she'd come to terms with being aromantic, she'd tried to follow the script that everyone seemed to have memorized by heart.

 

Sometimes, she'd accidentally pick somebody else's crush and be hated for a week or two before they realized that she wasn't going to pursue them and so they had them all to themselves.

 

Other times it was awkward to be comforted as the poor boy (who she often knew in passing and had decided that he, if nothing else, was good enough for her social standing) was used in an obvious attempt to hurt her feelings.

 

 

So she knew what that look on Lewiston's face was.

 

 

“Or.. Like I've been saying.. We're just friends. Ask him out if you want.”

 

 

The conversation had effectively been ended but Lewiston's curiosity hadn't been sated.

 

 

“I heard that you knew the new boy.”

 

 

Tyra catches the frantic waving of Asia behind her and raises a brow.

 

 

“Who?”

 

 

“Some guy named Xavier Picaré.”

  Her heart skips. 

 

“Oh. Yeah, we met in theater camp.”

 

 

Somewhere past rational, she's singing again.

 

Somewhere past rational, she's said something else.

 

Something a little more salacious. 

 

But rational is all she is. 

And so she walks. 

 

¬

 

It's much later, when she's lying in bed, about to hit play on this Russian song that just speaks to her for some reason, _brain tumor_  how wonderfully morbid, that it dawns on her.

 

This is not a happy reunion. It can't be for two reasons:

 

1) he didn't seem to want her for her money but he did still want her for something and maybe he'd left after she'd given it and she should have been livid that he'd left her alone with these thoughts and these regrets for four months but she couldn't find it in her to keep it. Not for something like this.

2) how was she going to explain that the person he'd met, kissed, shared filthy sordid secrets with, wasn't the real thing? It was a seasonal mask that she only ever wore in theater.

 

She turns over and lets out a quiet scream of frustration.

 

A part of her wishes that she could just wipe people's minds.

 

 

She's caught in a web that's at the bottom of an empty swimming pool steadily filling up with ocean water and her panic.

 

And there's something in the shadows that keep watching her. 

 

Keeps watch over her. 

 

$

 

The diner incident is long out of mind until Rory Lee's little present for him.

 

A clean, damn near freshly pressed snow white suit with a honey gold tie that reminds him of Tyra's ey— _no._

 

It reminds him of amber.

 

But what really cinches it's the note she leaves.

 

“ _Take your little partner, or go solo, your loss... Just go to the dang ballet and enjoy it! I got to head back to the lab! xoxo_ ”

 

 

Or is it the suit?

 

Just his size, coffee cream and sin red pocket square with gold cufflinks, nearly invisible black pinstripes. And it's only the way that it feels that sells him on it completely—like it's made to be worn for a special day.

 

 

For the ballet.

 

 

And just this once, just this one time, he takes out his money, the money that's not yet enough to get him to that dream, and counts off two hundred dollars.

 

 

Just to make sure that he can afford something shiny.

 

 

¬

 

She can't quite put a finger on why she is awake.

 

Or even if she is awake.

 

 

All her thoughts are slippery and slow and come to her like ripples in a lake.

 

 

The Darkforce is pushing her forward, into the waiting embrace of her companions. All of them have been waiting for her. All of them understand her pain.

 

They are in pain too.

 

Sharp hungry wanting pain.

 

 

They caress the salt off her cheeks, promising sight.

 

 

She'll see as they do soon.

 

 

A little one nips at her, calling her attention to her DarkStar — the one she'd seen that day and one other. 

 

He is happy, nervous and anxious, and he wants. 

 

He wants for very little that she can't give him and her heart aches that she cannot provide these things. 

 

Dragon, laughs The One Eternally Hungry. 

 

Glutton, she replies. The language that does not require speech or thought comes to her easily and she sighs. 

 

It'd be creepy to watch him by herself but—

 

He needs it tonight more than ever, Little Dragon. 

 

Show me how to See then. 

 

You can only open up your eyes when you are frightened. When you are ready to arise and to avenge. Much like the Light, the Dark will blind those unworthy to see. 

 

 

She waved her hand at the tiny one, descreet but vicious and take her to him if need be.

 

 

She would have to be content with that much.

 

 

 

$

 

 

He hands the vendor his ticket, having decided that he'd keep the other one as a momento, feeling eyes on him as he moves with the crowd.

 

 

He heads up to the seats until he stops feeling the eyes so intensely, pretending to be looking for his own, knowing full well that this was nothing like a movie theater and he wouldn't be able to slip past his unwitting sponsor's parents.

 

 

But...

 

 

He's sure he can figure something out. 


	6. That New Orleans Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> //we've gone way too fast for far too long we were never supposed to make it here--  
> \\\i've lived so much life too much life i think that God is going to have to kill me twice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. In the next chapter, there will be a sexual assault that takes place. I will label and bold it when it starts. And repeat this warning.
> 
> 2\. If you have any idea what the Darkforce is or the Predator, I assure you that Tyra isn't exactly what you might think.
> 
> 3\. Xavier/Javier Sting goes by both names because his parents divorced and couldn't decide on what to call him. Neither could he. -(more like I liked both names equally for this character because of the different ways I can play with both) (might edit it late game)
> 
> 4\. Let me know if there's anything I clarify. And have fun~

Blink and you'll miss him.

 

He's young and small and so _very_ fragile but he's doing his best.

 

And he sees you then.

 

Just as she saw his "fairies", he sees her "sprites" and he always has a little gift for you.

 

Today it is glitter, dust that sparkles just enough to sate it.

 

A different today, he has no gift, he is no longer very fragile and he no longer sees the shadows she sends and you are watching him fall apart bit by bit as she lets herself drown, using the pieces of him she can barely even see to keep herself afloat.

 

He still has his gloves and he's just barely doing his best still.

Can he see you now? 

 

 

$

 

 

There's something watching him, even as he slips away from the crowd, to the outer edges, towards the backstage entrance.

 

But it's familiar in a way that bothers him but doesn't as he examines the locked door.

 

Could he pick it before security—speaking of which, a precautionary glance around lets him know that he couldn't pick the lock fast enough because there are two of them and one of them will definitely notice if he lingers in front of this very conspicuous metal door with the words "private access" emblazoned on it.

 

He moves with the crowd a little bit, away from the door, trying to be close enough to seize the moment a miracle happened.

 

That moment.

 

A nondescript black shirt with 90's highlights hurries out of the door, swinging it wide open and he goes for it.

 

It's another miracle that he doesn't break a finger, catching the door an inch from shutting the way he does.

 

But he's never been one to question good things too deeply, right?

 

For tonight he isn't.

 

For tonight, he'll accept the miracles without a fight.

 

 

¬

He only ever called her when she woke up confused.

 

Why would now be any different?, she wondered sarcastic and irritated by the sheer unfairness of jolting awake at 11 pm, knowing full well that she wouldn't sleep again until tomorrow night.

 

“Hello, Xavier.”

“Hi, _Princesa. Cómo estás_?”

“ _Así, así. Y tu_?”

“ _Bien, bien_.”

 

Politics again. She rolled her eyes.

Boys.

 

“Why'd you call me this time, Xavi? Afraid of the _bruha_ next door again?”

 

She supposed that she'll have to at the very least play along with it until—

 

“I was thinking about you.”

 

She blinked.

 

“Uh. _Huh_.”

 

“I missed you, Princesa. And I didn't even get to see you at school today.”

 

He wasn't teasing her. There's no laughter in his voice as he speaks and it's a frightening thing. 

 

“... I, um. I only heard about you.. After.. After soccer practice.”

 

And she's suddenly the nervous wreck that he'd had to rescue from Tom. 

 

He makes her feel so fragile, like she's ready to fall apart at the seams in front of him. 

 

And she absolutely doesn't trust him like that at all. 

 

(he hasn't earned it. he hasn't bled for it.)

 

“Yeah, well, it was a sudden thing to have Saint Louis shut down.”

 

She supposes that it was. 

 

“Why my school?”

 

“A little friendly competition,” he smirks, referring to both their parents' petty rivalry and something that made her face heat. 

 

“... Summer didn't happen, Xavi.”

 

“I know it didn't, Princess.”

 

She already knows her answer before he offers. 

 

“But it could happen again. Albeit secretly.”

 

“God, yes.”

 

“Eager?”

 

“Blow me.”

 

$

 

 

The very first thing, the most important thing that his father had taught him was that miracles had a time-limit. 

 

For Edison, it was when Telsa discovered A/C currents. 

 

For him, it was as the show came to a close. 

 

Luckily he'd been able to have the miracle happen before the waltz started. 

 

He'd gotten into the darkened backstage fine, snuck past the makeup artists and decided that sitting on the top rafters was a good enough way to make the most of the view he'd get. 

 

 

And God—it was worth it.

 

There's something about ballet (past it being the most important thing from his childhood that's never really changed except for get better and more inclusive) that just speaks to the warm and fuzzies in his soul.

 

 

The chatter and glow of the dancers during intermission was just as bright as the first scene and he's entranced he forgets all about food.

 

 

 

The grace, the choreography, the... Violins..

 

 

“You're in danger, dark star.”

 

 

It's her voice. The girl from the dream he'd almost forgotten.

 

 

It resonates in his chest like it's a shout but gentle. It's everywhere and nowhere.

 

 

“From what?,” he mouths.

 

 

“Our destiny is a harsh one, star. You need to fight it. Don't run from it... Don't run from me. Please, I couldn't bear it!”

 

“I don't even know you,” he retorts instinctively and immediately regrets it as the voice makes a painful whimper.

 

 

“.. But you used to...”

A gruff voice interrupts them and he knows without knowing that he's been left alone once more. 

“Hey! You aren't supposed to be up there!”

 

And it all went downhill from there.

 

 

×

 

 

Her heart is breaking.

 

She doesn't have a good reason.

 

It's all she can taste, like ash and death on her tongue.

 

“... Tyra?... Shit... Dark... Please..!”

 

She thinks that she was with someone else.

 

In a theater. Or was it a car?

 

He doesn't know her. He doesn't know her. He doesn't know her...

 

Her eyes are the only part of her that she can still feel and they burn like saltwater in open wounds.

 

“Tyra.. Tyra, you met... Too early... Too much for him.”

 

Her ears are stuffed with cotton and the little noise that gets through it is grating. She wants him to shut up and leave her alone.

 

“I'm yours too. ”

 

LiAr

 

“Nope, not even a little bit. I'm going to earn your trust, princesa. Starting with the human side.”

 

That one is worse. That one doesn't know...

 

Oh.

 

Too early to dream, to have his eyes open.

 

Her heart is immediately lighter.

 

“Jude, then. I remember you. The Truthseeker. Your existence will sadden the human but know that if you are trying to repeat old times, I will kill you myself.”

 

“Noted, my lady.”

 

“She'll need to eat something. Take her somewhere casual. French fries and a—”

 

“Pink lemonade. I know. I've been paying attention.”

 

“Hn.”

 

She wakes up starving and with a godawful taste in her mouth.

She sits up and immediately regrets it as the world swims and she hits her head on the metal roof before flopping back onto the leather seat. 

 

“Oww...”

 

“You back with me, _princesa_?”

 

Xavier. 

 

She squints at him, trying to force the memory. 

 

“What happened?”

 

“You haven't been eating right, princesa!,” he scolded with a laugh. 

 

“Buut, viola! French fries, a chicken sandwich with light mayo and some pink lemonade for a drink!”

 

 

She gratefully drains the lemonade first, the taste disappearing with each swallow to be replaced with the salt of French fries.

 

“... Thank you. I'll pay you—”

 

“You can repay me by staying with still for a while.”

 

“… alright,” she whispered, feeling like she'd been scolded for something.

 

 

$

 

His feet slap at the ground as soon as he jumps off the third to last ladder rung and he goes for the bright beacon of an EXIT.

 

Not for the first time, he wonders how Tom Cruze did this nearly every Mission Improbable documentary.

 

 

It's always easier to sneak into a place than out of it.

 

He shoves his way out of the crowd, forcing polite and haughty alike aside, making liberal use of his elbows and palms.

 

 

 

He's so close.

 

 

He grips the metal handle, pushes down and—

 

 

“Not so fast, kid!”

 

He's at least a little certain that this security guard isn't human with how easily he gets picked up.

 

At a later time, he'd find it hilarious that he got picked up by the collar of his suit like a cartoon bad guy.

 

For now though, there's a spinning terror in his chest as he tries to get his feet back on the ground.

 

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Felix, set my new _friend_ down!,” a smarmy savior interjects.

 

 

It sounds like a rich kid. Entitled, confident.

 

And as Felix who looked as uneasy as he made Tanner feel set him down on his feet, he found that he looked like a rich kid too and it was only made worse by one distinct thing— _oh no he's hot!_

And he knew it too.

 

With his Brandon Urie hair and desert tanned skin and poisoned green eyes.

 

But he didn't treat it the same way as other people. 

 

Other people who knew it were either bothered by it or obsessed with making sure that everyone else at the very least acknowledged it. 

 

This guy seemed indifferent to it and way too used to getting his own way.

 

.... Indifferent wasn't quite the right thing to call it.

 

 _Predatory_ , in the cold-blooded stalker-ish way that snakes and sociopaths had.

 

 

It sent chills down his spine even as he made an exaggerated show of brushing the suit down and sauntering towards him.

 

 

×

 

“Y'know... This is the most relaxed that I've been for ages.”

 

 

Then he'd know that she'd been nothing but a stressed wreck since he'd left for Roxxon training.

 

 

“So... How was Roxxon?”

 

 

He knew her distaste for the company better than anyone.

She'd talk his ear off about the Bowen case, the survivor in the coma, the fishy way that the CEO kept pushing them to work for the company... It'd be odd if she was suddenly interested.. Even though she kind of was. 

 

The last YLA meeting had given her an oddly cold feeling. 

 

 

And then there was a matter of where she'd go from there.

 

 

“... So. What've you been.. Have you been... What's up?”

 

 _That's_  what she chose to start with.

 

She eyed the door with intent.

 

 

“So. I've been moving up in the YLA ladder board. Alvah is the new president, by the way. Might want to rub elbows with him if you want to still get away with 'defaming' the company name to any potential recruits.”

 

 

“Ugh. Actually gross. I've got to try and interest *Alvah* ? Might actually be easier to vanish from YLA altogether.”

 

 

“But that guaranteed scholarship deal though,” he reminded her.

 

 

“Ick,” she snorted derisively.

 

 

“Ick. Scholarships,” he mocked.

 

 

“How much money is my soul worth I wonder?,” she mused halfway jokingly as she cracked her knuckles, focusing on her pinky as it refused to give.

 

She'd break it again by accident. 

 

She should stop. 

 

But it hadn't really been a problem. And now this wasn't her dominant hand and she'd be fine within a week or two. 

 

She'd always chalked it up to good genes. Super healing. Or maybe she'd always known that she'd have to rely on herself and her own body.

 

“Don't,” Javi ordered and she paused, automatically switching fingers. 

 

 

“Hm?… Oh, yeah. I'm just... Super bad with that feeling of being off when one of my fingers don't... Y'know.. Pop.”

 

He gave her an odd look that she couldn't quite read. 

 

“Yeah, I know. But you shouldn't hurt yourself too badly. All the royal bones and blood might come for me if I'm not careful with you.”

 

She tried for a light laugh but something snapped in her chest and she choked. 

 

It crept up on her. 

 

The anxious shaky feeling of everything absolutely wrong. Wrong. 

 

It was a sudden grip on her chest like a vise as she shivered. 

 

(don't interfere, don't interfere with destiny, don't—)

 

Little by little, she came back to her senses. 

 

But the world was too much. It all started to get on her nerves. She wanted to go home. 

 

But not back home. 

 

She didn't know what exactly she wanted. 

 

But getting out of the tight cramped space was a good start. 

 

“Whoa, we're moving—”

 

She stepped out of the car.

 

And into the lights. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile since I have updated this, my lovely readers.  
>  And unfortunately, school and depression are my only excuses, mostly the depression. I have had this chapter ready for a week now, it was just every time I tried to post it using the mobile site it wouldn't save and I'd be exhausted by it.  
> But this chapter has some strange pacing but mostly on Tyra's end, things are falling into place and apart for her while Tanner is just trying to survive day by day.
> 
> ... I'll probably come back to this chapter and redo it later.

**Author's Note:**

> Genderbent! Cloak and Dagger, anyone?  
> It's mostly just the main four that have been genderbent but it does affect the plot.  
> Read, review and roast me if you see a typo!


End file.
